


Lovelines

by NeonPistachio



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Maybe sort of fantasy? I don't know how to tag, Not really a soulmate AU, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonPistachio/pseuds/NeonPistachio
Summary: James has one of the loneliest wrists Robbie has ever seen.Alternate Universe where people’s emotional connections are shown as multi-coloured lines on their arm.
Relationships: James Hathaway/Robert Lewis, Laura Hobson/OC
Comments: 16
Kudos: 153





	Lovelines

**Author's Note:**

> CW for mentions of domestic and sexual abuse of children, and death of a teenage OC.

James has one of the loneliest wrists Robbie has ever seen. Not that he’s spent much time analysing his friend’s wrist, but the few times he has caught a glimpse the number of heartlines has always been in the single figures. 

Robbie knows everyone shows heartlines differently; some people react to anyone they see on a regular basis, some people need a deeper connection to begin a line. Robbie is somewhere in the middle; he hopes James is just difficult to ‘line up with’, as the saying goes. 

He first sees James’s wrist in the early days of their partnership. There are eight lines that Robbie can count. One – a tangle the colours of resentment, anger, love and guilt – finishes in the grey-blue of grief; recognisable not least from his own wrist, even if the line before is very different. Another ranges with scum-green guilt and mauve regret. More worryingly, a third is coloured with sickly yellow shame and deep brick red fear, and another colour, khaki green, that Robbie doesn’t know the meaning of. He doesn’t ask, and if James sees him glance at the lines the lad doesn’t say anything. 

*

He doesn’t see James’s wrist uncovered again until the hospital, after Robbie carries him out of Zoe Kenneth’s burning house. The first thing he notices is the line previously made of guilt and regret has grown, grief extending it as James absorbs this new emotional impact. It’s not rocket science to guess that one belonged to Will McEwan. The second thing he notices is that there are now nine lines, and Robbie wonders if the new line belongs to him. James has his own line on Robbie's wrist, but they don’t talk about that sort of thing, and so Robbie tells the soft lad not to be so melodramatic and goes back to politely ignoring his sergeant’s emotional connections. 

It does play in his mind, though. Will McEwan’s line is the only one of a length to belong to a school friend. The rest are either family length – none of which are coloured the way Robbie’s seen on the wrists of people with good familial relationships, and that’s a separate concern – or are short enough to have been formed in the last few years. At least the lad has some friends, but it’s still a lonely wrist.

*

The next time he sees James’s lines is after he’s jumped into a lake of crap and knives. He’s stripping to shower when Robbie brings him his gym kit from the car. In the brief second when Robbie sees James’s arm, the most obvious thing this time is that one of the lines now pulses with rich, warm ruby pink, the tell-tale sign of romantic love. James turns away quickly, and Robbie feels a pang of sympathy for the lad. Apparently his feelings for Fiona McKendrick ran deeper than Robbie knew. He doesn’t say anything though. It’s not taboo to talk about heartlines, but James is private enough that Robbie thinks he’d treat it as such. So Robbie just makes a joke about needing two showers before being let into the car and tells James they’ll go for fish and chips once the paperwork’s finished. 

*

After the case at Crevecouer, he has a horrible suspicion he knows where the line coloured with fear and shame and duty came from. Neither he nor James mention it. 

*

It’s years before he sees James’s wrist again; after Robbie's retirement and return, after James’s long walk and promotion. James is not keen on diving into the pool to search for bullets, but Maddox can’t swim apparently, and Robbie's certainly not doing it. 

He’s more focussed on the implications of the bullet than he is on James, but he does notice – briefly, before James hurries away to get dressed – that there are more lines now, possibly even double figures. One of them is still ruby with love. It’s a bit harder to tell with the new lines added, but he’s pretty certain it’s the same one as before. Poor bloke, carrying a torch for a woman long gone. It makes his heart break a little to think of it. 

He tries to find a way to bring it up, but James is evasive at the best of times. Robbie does some asking around as well; Fiona McKendrick married three years ago. He can’t very well suggest James go and see if she’s still interested. 

He’s discussed things with Laura – he needed someone else’s input, and Laura is James’s friend too. She’s immediately sympathetic but can’t suggest anything that might help, and Robbie's spoken to James in the past about finding a partner to no effect. Still, he tries again. ‘You should try,’ he tell James, nodding to his wrist. ‘That’s all I’ll say.’ 

James takes a drink of his wine. ‘Spoken for.’ He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t even say if he’s referring to himself or Fiona, and Robbie knows him well enough not to try and force the matter. He just wishes there was something he could do to help. He hates thinking of James in pain.

After a while, though, Robbie has other things to think about. Chiefly, why his own heartline for Laura is still the purple of friendship. It’s been nearly a year and a half. Shouldn’t it be pink by now?

He thinks he loves Laura, but he’s beginning to wonder if it’s a romantic love after all, even without the indicator on his wrist. It doesn’t feel like it did with Val; yes, Robbie is aware that no two relationships are the same, but this doesn’t feel at all similar. He’s started to feel a little uncomfortable baring his wrist around her. He hasn’t told her which line is hers, but the lack of pink is obvious enough. Well, Val’s line still holds it, as well as the blue-grey grief, but there’s no second line of pink. In turn, he notices Laura’s started wearing long sleeved shirts and that adds to the guilt – she must have noticed his lines lack love and is hiding her own colours in response.

He takes a long weekend and goes up to Manchester. In between playing with Jack and catching up with Lyn and Tim, he thinks about his future. 

*

He’s at peace with his decision by the time he returns to Oxford. It’s only early afternoon when he arrives home, so with Laura still at work he nips out to pick up some bits and pieces to put together one of the meals she’s genuinely complemented him on. ‘This is a nice surprise,’ she tells him when she walks in the door. She kisses him quickly on the cheek and vanishes upstairs to change. 

Dinner is on the table by the time she reappears and Robbie has poured them both wine. ‘Did you have a good time in Manchester?’ Laura asks, and Robbie fills her in on all of Jack’s antics now he’s about to start school. 

‘Lyn and Tim send their love,’ he adds, and she smiles, but there’s something in it that has Robbie feeling uneasy. He waits for her to speak, but she stays silent, apparently concentrating on eating. ‘How was your weekend?’ he asks in the end.

She takes a last bite and stands. ‘Far too busy,’ she tells him, smiling and beginning to clear their plates. ‘I got called in Saturday and Sunday.’

‘Shame,’ Robbie tells her, standing too. ‘Not much of a weekend, that.’ He wanders through to the living room with their glasses. ‘Fancy a bit of telly?’ There’s no reply, and Robbie turns back, raises his voice to be heard in the kitchen. ‘Fancy some telly, love?’

Laura appears in the doorway. ‘Robbie, I need to talk to you.’

‘Okay,’ Robbie tells her, settling on to the couch and trying not to feel apprehensive. ‘What about?’ Laura suddenly looks like she’s close to tears, and Robbie feels a clutch of anxiety in his stomach. ‘What’s wrong, love?’

Laura sinks down onto the other end of the couch and begins to roll up her sleeve, and suddenly Robbie knows where this is going. He opens his mouth to speak but Laura gives him a pleading look and shakes her head. ‘Let me show you.’ She finishes rolling back her sleeve, and Robbie watches as she turns her arm so her lines are revealed. As he half expected, half feared, one of them is the ruby pink of romantic love. It’s not, however, the one he might have expected.

‘That’s not mine, is it?’ he checks, quietly shocked. Laura and he have known each other for a long time, been friends for much of it. Realistically, whichever line is his should be longer. This line, whoever it belongs to, has barely begun.

‘No,’ Laura agrees, tenderly touching the young line, then tapping a different one. ‘This one is yours.’ The line she indicates is a similar length and shade to Robbie's one for her, deep aubergine purple to show their close platonic friendship. 

Robbie takes a deep breath and reaches for his own sleeve. Rolling up his shirt and jumper together isn’t easy, but he can push them high enough the show his own lines. Laura looks almost afraid as she gazes at his bared arm. 

‘That’s Val,’ he tells her quietly, gently running a finger along the line that’s still mostly pink, the grief beginning to recede now he’s come to terms with her being gone. He doesn’t think the line will ever fade, though. Her influence on him will linger forever. He lets Laura look her fill before pointing to another line. ‘That’s you.’

Laura looks up at him and the relief is plain to see. ‘I thought I was going to break your heart,’ she tells him, a distinct wobble to her voice. That answers Robbie's next question. 

‘You don’t want to make a go of it still, then?’ he asks, as non-judgementally as he can. He was prepared to, made his decision in Manchester, but this changes things.

Laura looks at him for a long moment, and Robbie can’t read her expression. ‘I know people can and do have wonderfully fulfilling relationships based on platonic love,’ she says eventually. ‘And I think, if this hadn’t happened, I would have been delighted to share that with you. But...’ She bites her lip. ‘I want to see where this goes. It’s crazy, but I want to try.’

‘Alright, love,’ Robbie agrees. He can’t deny he’s a little sad about this, but on the other hand he had his time with Val, knows how Laura feels. He’s not going to deny her the same chance and he’d regret it if he lost their friendship trying to force something that’s no longer working.

‘So who is it?’ he asks, and after a minute of carefully scrutinising his face Laura smiles. Robbie doesn’t think he’s seen this exact smile on her before; it’s tender and a little wistful, a little shy, but there’s excitement and joy alight behind it. 

‘We met through work,’ she begins. ‘We had lunch a few times, you know, making the new person welcome. Then we had drinks once or twice when you were busy at work. Then it was texting on breaks at work, and dropping by for coffee whenever we could. It just happened so fast! One minute I’m happily contemplating a future with you, the next minute I’m think about someone else first thing in the morning! I think I knew something was different about it even before my colours came in.’

Robbie smiles at her, feeling wistful not for her but for the sensations she’s describing. ‘It was like that with Val an’ me,’ he admits, and Laura looks close to tears again. Robbie rallies. ‘So who is it then? Can’t be bloody Peterson at least.’

Laura looks him dead on, jaw jutting out a little ‘Milla.’

‘Who?’ Robbie says without thinking, even though he knows who she’s taking about. Milla. It makes sense, in an abstract sort of way. Laura’s been mentioning her with increasing frequency ever since she began working in the hospital. Robbie has even joked that Milla is Laura’s James. ‘That’s a bit of a surprise,’ he manages. 

Laura looks at him for a long minute before her face breaks into a rueful smile. ‘To me too. I’ve never looked at a woman in that way before, but Milla...’ There’s a look in her eyes that Robbie recognises from the first months of their relationship, before things settled into the comfortable, easy familiarity they have now. It’s mirrored in the coral streaks in the young line, the antithesis of their shared lines where the coral is beginning to dwindle. ‘You know what they say,’ she continues, still a little rueful. ‘Lines don’t lie.’

‘Does she feel the same?’ Robbie asks, as carefully as he can, and Laura nods, biting her lip a little. 

‘She came round for dinner last night,’ she tells him, and Robbie thinks he remembers her mentioning it when they talked on Saturday night, but Jack had been calling for him at the time and he hadn’t paid much attention. ‘We talked,’ she continues. ‘We… discussed things. Nothing more,’ she assures him. ‘I – we – wanted to wait until I’d spoken to you. She feels the same about me.’

‘That’s good then,’ Robbie tells her, trying to be encouraging. ‘Be terrible if it was one sided.’ He reaches out, a little tentatively, to take Laura’s hand. She lets him, squeezing his fingers in return. ‘I’m glad for you,’ he tells her honestly. ‘I hope it works out as you want.’

‘Thank you, Robbie.’ Her voice is wobbly again, and Robbie can tell it’s with relief this time. He’s not surprised when she reaches across the couch to pull him into a hug. He hugs her back, two friends acknowledging a sea-change, before he pulls gently away. 

‘So what’s next?’ he asks. ‘You’ll be staying here, of course, but is Milla going to be moving in?’

Laura gives him a slightly uncertain smile. ‘We haven’t got that far yet,’ she tells him. ‘We’ll probably try dating properly for a bit at least. I hope you’ll stay until you can find somewhere.’

‘If you don’t mind,’ Robbie agrees, thankful not to be suddenly ejected with an overnight bag and a suit carrier. ‘Probably find somewhere within a week or so. Think I’ll be using the spare room til then, though,’ he joke gently, and Laura gives him something approaching her normal grin. 

‘And I’ll finally get a good night’s sleep,’ she jokes back.

The spare room is already made up, and it’s not until Robbie climbs under the duvet that he remembers why – they kept it made up for James to sleep in when he stayed late. Robbie can smell him faintly on the sheets; cigarettes, fancy hair product and, even fainter, the natural scent of James’s skin. 

For a minute Robbie thinks about getting up to change the bedding, but it’s late, he’s tired, and it’s really not that big a deal. It’s even nice, in a way. Like having James in the bed beside him. That’s going to be that hardest thing to readjust to, he reckons. Sleeping alone again. One last night of feeling like there’s someone beside him won’t hurt. _I’ll change them tomorrow,_ he thinks as he drifts off. 

*

Over breakfast, he and Laura discuss what, if anything, they want to say to people. They agree that James should know – Robbie feels funny about even the possibility of keeping this from James. It never ends well when they keep things from each other. Other than that, neither of them wants to make a big deal of it or have people sticking their noses in. Robbie will just quietly file his change of address, when it comes, and then they’ll play it by ear. Though, truth be told, the way gossip works between the nick and the John Radcliffe, as soon as one person realises everyone will know. 

He doesn’t see James first thing – Robbie’s assigned to work with Laxton’s team on a string of assaults that’s now left one girl in hospital fighting for her life. He plans to drop by James’s office at lunch and invite him out for a pint after work, but when he arrives James is out interviewing a suspect, according to DC French. He’ll try again later.

In the end, James texts him first to invite him out for a pint. Case dependant, as ever. Nothing comes up, however, and six o’clock finds them at their favourite table at The Trout, early summer sun turning the river nearly the same shade of gold as James’s hair. 

Robbie intended to open the conversation gently, warm up a little then bring it round to his and Laura’s new status. Now he’s sitting here, however, he can’t figure out how to begin. They end up talking about work, almost inevitably, before moving on to chatting about something on the news the other day, and an article James read, and a documentary Robbie watched while he was in Manchester, and Robbie’s trip to Manchester in general, and somehow Robbie just can’t find the words. 

In the end, James gives him the opening. ‘Fancy some dinner? Or is Laura expecting you home to cook?’

Robbie swallows the last of his pint. ‘I’ll get the menus. Got something to tell you,’ he adds, standing, and is it his imagination or does James look apprehensive? He ponders this on the walk to the bar and while waiting for their next round. Maybe James has guessed, and he’s worried he’s going to have Robbie sobbing on his shoulder. Robbie snorts at that, laughing to himself at the look of horrified panic James would adopt if that ever came to pass. 

‘Go on then,’ James prompts him when he returns clutching drinks and menus. ‘What do you want to tell me?’ He’s lit a cigarette in Robbie's absence, has turned to look out over the river so Robbie can only see him in profile. He’s closed his eyes a little against the sun’s glare, and Robbie can hardly read his expression. His voice doesn’t give anything away either.

‘Laura and me have split up,’ he tells James, watching carefully. James stills for a long moment, cigarette halfway to his mouth, before lowering it again without taking a drag. 

‘What happened?’ he asks, turning to Robbie, and concern is visible on his face. ‘Or tell me it’s none of my business,’ he adds hurriedly. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m okay,’ Robbie tells him, and it’s mostly the truth. ‘We’re both okay. We want different things.’ James looks sceptical, as a good detective should over Robbie's half-arsed explanation. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t press for more, but Robbie hears the unspoken questions. He sighs. ‘Truth is, neither of us were in love,’ he tells James. ‘And then Laura met someone else. Don’t blame her,’ he hastens to add, remembering the strained relationship between James and Laura after that incident with Franco. ‘It’s for the best, and I’m chuffed she’s found someone.’ He is too, really he is. He’s just a daft old sod, wondering if he’ll ever find something like that too. But that’s his problem. ‘She’s been very open about it, an’ we’ve talked. We’re both fine,’ he promises again.

James studies him for a long moment before nodding. ‘Do you need a place to stay?’ he offers. 

Warmed, Robbie shakes his head. ‘Nah, I’m sleeping in the spare room for the moment, and I’m looking for a place to live.’ Well, he will be, when he goes back to the house. ‘An’ it’s not like you’re overflowing with space yourself,’ he adds, thinking of James’s one-bedroom flat the man’s had since his sergeant days. ‘Maybe we should both be looking for new places,’ he jokes. 

James gives him his inscrutable smile. ‘Decided yet?’ he asks, nodding at the menu. ‘My shout.’

‘Bangers an’ mash, then,’ Robbie tells him, handing back the menu. James’s fingers brush against his as he takes it, and Robbie enjoys the brief warmth. ‘Think I’m allowed a pudding as a newly single man?’ he asks. James smiles, more warmly this time. 

‘I think there’s a rule about it,’ he agrees.

When he returns, he nods to the bench seat next to Robbie. ‘Mind if I sit there? Sun’s getting in my eyes.’

Robbie shifts over obligingly to make space, and James slides in beside him. The air is beginning to grow cooler, and the press of James against him is nice in the evening chill. That’s one upside to splitting up, he reckons. He’ll be able to spend more time with James again. After that first flush of new relationship euphoria with Laura, it sometimes felt like he was missing an arm, not seeing so much of James. Worse, of course, when he buggered off to Spain with hardly a word. That felt like missing an arm and a leg. It’s a good thing heartlines don’t record that sort of thing, or there would definitely have been some questions from Laura. 

*

Robbie is finishing up the last of the paperwork on the assault case when James appears and knocks on Laxton’s office door frame. Lounging there, he’s as welcome a sight as always. He smiles at Robbie, then nods to Laxton. ‘Mind if I borrow him?’ he asks, tilting his head towards Robbie. Laxton shoos them both off. 

‘By all means. Thanks for your help, Lewis,’ she adds as Robbie grabs for his coat.

‘Need the benefit of my experience?’ he jokes, and James offers him something of a smile in response. 

‘Always. As pertains to this case, which would you recommend; Black Horse or the Vicky Arms?’

‘Ah, that kind of experience,’ Robbie grins. 

They end up back at James’s with take away and another bottle of Abingdon Bridge each. Despite their noble intentions on breaking up, it’s suddenly become a bit awkward, sharing a house with Laura. Robbie almost wishes he had taken James up on his offer to stay here instead, but the couch is just uncomfortable enough to convince him otherwise. Still, at least spending most of his evenings here has minimised the awkwardness at the house. This place is almost beginning to feel like home instead, though that’s more to do with the presence of James than the actual flat.

‘Are you on call this weekend?’ James asks, poking through the take out bag to find the onion bhajis. Robbie swallows his mouthful of beer and nods.

‘Probably won’t be asked to come in, but yeah, I’m on call if needed.’

James hands him the poppadoms. ‘I’m off rota. Fancy taking the canoe out?’

‘I’d love to,’ Robbie tells him, genuinely regretful. Spending his evenings with James this week has been lovely, and he wouldn’t have minded doing something on the weekend too, but - ‘I’ve got a load of flat viewings booked, though.’ Sooner he gets his own place the better; he knows Laura’s holding off officially beginning something with Milla until he does, and he doesn’t want to drag it out for either of them. 

James stills in his spooning out of rice. ‘Would you mind if I tagged along?’ He glances up at Robbie for a second then looks away. ‘Like you said, maybe it’s time I found a new place too.’

‘’Course I don’t mind,’ Robbie tells him, bumping him gently on the shoulder as he reaches for the plate James has made him. ‘But if it comes to it, I’m pulling rank to get first choice on the nicest place.’

‘Doesn’t work any more,’ James tells him, sinking back onto the sofa with his own plate and smirking at Robbie. ‘You didn’t think of that when you were pushing me towards promotion, did you?’

‘Cheeky sod,’ Robbie tells him fondly. ‘Fine, we’ll do scissors paper stone for it.’

‘Much more egalitarian,’ James agrees. 

*

Robbie went the old fashioned way, a little to James’s horror, and made an appointment with an estate agent to see flats rather than scouting around on the internet. ‘Who has time for that?’ Robbie huffs at him as they park outside the first flat, the estate agent’s car already sitting outside. 

The estate agent gets out of the car before James can reply. ‘Mr Lewis?’ she asks, looking between them. Robbie identifies himself, and the estate agent introduces herself as Carla, digs out the keys and lets them into the flat. 

It’s nice enough, a not-particularly-special modern build, two bedrooms for if James stays over or if Lyn and family come to stay. It would be fine, and comfortably within Robbie's price range if a little far from the nick. James seems about as enamoured of it as Robbie does, so they both put it on their ‘maybe’ lists and ask to see the next one. The second flat is similar, if a bit closer to work and a bit more expensive. Also a bit more run down, and they both decide it’s a no. 

The third flat is enormous and looks like it should come with a butler. Robbie dismisses it almost instantly; he’d rattle around terribly in there. James, however, seems quite taken. ‘You can’t be serious, man!’ Robbie exclaims, surprised. ‘You’d get lost in here!’

James looks up from inspecting the windows. ‘I like the fireplace. And it’s got good acoustics. Plenty of space for my stuff.’

‘You could fit half the nick in here,’ Robbie objects. ‘It wouldn’t be very home-like.’

James gets that blank look, the one Robbie feels as a worry in his gut. It’s the kind of look dragged up by unexpected references to James’s past, and Robbie hates it more than he can say. It’s not always obvious what the cause is, but Robbie reckons he’s got a pretty good idea this time.

‘I’d hardly be here anyway,’ James says, with a lightness that doesn’t fool Robbie for a second. ‘It’s just be a place to keep my suits.’

‘Exactly,’ Robbie returns triumphantly. ‘You might leave work at a decent time if you had somewhere nice to come home to.’

There’s something odd around James’s eyes, something that looks a bit like longing, and Robbie thinks of the pink line on James’s arm and feels his stomach twist. The look is gone a second later, James blinking and pulling a hurt face. ‘Are you saying my current flat isn’t nice?’ he asks. Robbie is about to give him a brief rundown of what, precisely, is wrong with his current flat, but James, seeing his expression, forestalls him. ‘Fine, if you’ve got such a strong opinion on my living space, not this one. Where’s next?’ he asks Carla, who’s looking between them with confusion. It’s a look they get a lot at work. She shakes it off, though, and gives them the next address.

This flat is much nicer. It’s certainly a lot smaller. It wouldn’t be big enough for Robbie, not if he wants space for Lyn’s lot too, but it would be a good place for James. He says so too. ‘An’ it’s got a nice fireplace,’ he points out. ‘You could get a good long couch too.’ 

The look James is giving him is a mix of exasperation and pleasure, Robbie thinks. ‘You do remember we’re flat hunting for you, don’t you?’ he asks. ‘It doesn’t really matter if I find somewhere.’

He has a point, but Robbie's not going to let that stop him. He doesn’t like the idea of James without a home, now that he’s realised the lack. ‘This would be ideal for you,’ he insists. ‘Don’t worry about me; there’s still a few places to look, an’ I think one of them’s got a garden too. Or there’s that first place we saw.’

James is looking stubborn, and Robbie is preparing to dig his heels in over this when Carla interrupts. 

‘Sorry, gentlemen, but can I just clarify – are you each looking for a flat?’

‘Yes?’ Robbie replies, confused. What else would they – then, prompted by James’s sudden embarrassed flush, he understands. 

‘We’re not together,’ he tells her, and James turns away, probably to hide a smile at the poor confused lass’s mistake. It’s laughable, really, Robbie thinks, a little hollow. Him and James, a couple. Nonsense. ‘I’ve just split with me girlfriend,’ he carries on, trying to fill the hollow feeling with words. ‘An’ he’s got a pokey little place. That’s all.’

James turns back, and that earlier blank face is even blanker now. ‘Two flats,’ is all he says.

‘Right.’ Carla looks awkwardly between them. ‘Right. Ok. Sorry, I didn’t mean -’ 

‘No harm done,’ Robbie assures her, and hopes it’s true. James holds the blank face a little longer, until something changes and he relaxes again, offering a smile to Robbie. 

‘You do have to explain these things, darling,’ he simpers, and Robbie is transported back into that school, years ago on the Rachel Mallory case, and the start of James’s piss-taking flirting.

‘Sod,’ he offers, rolling his eyes. ‘You’re confusing the nice lady.’ He shakes his head. ‘He likes this one,’ Robbie says to Carla, who still looks confused. ‘Can we see the next one now?’

Later, at the pub, both of them with appointments to go and sign leases on Monday, Robbie takes a long pull of his pint and leans back, satisfied. ‘Decent place you’re found,’ he tells James.

James, cigarette dangling from between his long fingers, shrugs. ‘It’s just a flat.’

‘Aye, but you can make it properly nice,’ Robbie encourages. ‘Get some good furniture, more bookshelves so you have enough room for all your books, maybe a couple of plants...’

James looks over, inscrutably. ‘You’re the expert on homes,’ he says eventually. ‘Maybe I should get you to do my decorating.’ The inscrutability turns sly. ‘I remember how you spruced up your flat when you and Laura got together,’ he muses. ‘Colour co-ordination and scented soaps.’

‘Right,’ Robbie tells him. ‘Just for that, I’ll do your place in clashing neon. Maybe thrown in a few pillows shaped like footballs.’

James shudders. ‘I think I’d move into the office,’ he returns. ‘Not exactly my idea of home.’  
‘So what is your idea of home?’ Robbie asks, trying for casual and probably missing by a mile. 

James looks at him, and blood hell, he’s gone inscrutable again. ‘It’s more about the people than the place,’ he murmurs, and, well, Robbie can understand that. He lifts his pint in a silent toast, dipping his head in acknowledgement then taking a drink. James does the same, and they sink into companionable silence. 

‘I’ll get the menus, will I?’ Robbie asks after a while, and James nods in agreement. ‘An’ how about we take the canoe out tomorrow?’ he adds. 

‘Excellent idea,’ James replies, looking pleased, and Robbie heads in with a feeling of anticipation in his chest. Tomorrow has the makings of a good day.

*

It’s a good thing autumn’s drawing in now. Robbie can wear long sleeved shirts and keep his suit jacket on without anyone thinking twice. It’s more difficult to remember not to roll his sleeves up; it’s such an ingrained habit he does it without thinking. He forgot once at work, and kept wondering why people were giving him pitying looks until he realised. Now the whole bloody place thinks he’s pining for Laura, when truth is he couldn’t be happier for her. Milla’s lovely, and he’s had dinner with the two of them a few times. It makes him a bit nostalgic for the early days of his and Val’s relationship, seeing the two of them together. 

Word obviously got back to Laura too, and he got dragged out for coffee and interrogation about his ‘new lady love.’ He blustered about a man having to have a few secrets and managed to get away with it, but he’s not fooling himself that it’ll last long. Laura’s tenacious by nature, and they’re good friends – sooner or later he’ll end up coming clean, one way or another. And then the teasing will start.

The autumn light is warm, belying the chill in the air. From his position on the riverbank, Robbie watches the smooth reach and pull of James’s arms as he forces the scull through the water. At this distance he can only really see the general shape of James, but he’d know that shape anywhere. As James comes closer, the early light beginning to glint off his hair, Robbie can almost feel the no-longer-quite-so-faint threads of coral attraction in James’s line growing stronger. Like this, James looks as in his element as when he’s lost in his music, and Robbie challenges anyone not to feel something. 

Coral in relation to a man is a new concept to Robbie. He’s had a few thoughts over the years – who hasn’t? - mostly before he met Val, but that’s it. Even when he was a teenager and hormones made everything exaggerated and immediate, he’s only ever been attracted to women. 

And now James. 

It’s ridiculous and more than a little scary, at his age. 

The coral in James’s line used to be a single strand, weaving around the edges of the deep, deep purple. Small enough to be ignored by anyone noticing it, including Robbie. In the last few years it’s grown noticeably thicker, but still eclipsed by the purple of friendship. Now, however, the aubergine, ruby and coral swirl together in roughly equal quantities, tracing the change of Robbie's feelings for James. It’s bloody embarrassing, as much as anything, and when it’s not that it’s miserable. 

He’s thought about what to do; of course he has. Seeing Laura and Milla so happy together played a large part in convincing him that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if something did happen. He knows it won’t, though. James has his own version of that line, and it doesn’t belong to Robbie. Robbie's an old fool if he thinks that just because James eased him out of his grief over Val and back in to the real world, he could return the favour. 

He can, however, try and improve James’s life the way James did for him. So Robbie's been luring him into a steady stream of dinners together, first at the pub then lately cooking together at one or other of their flats. There’s also been the odd early breakfast, and of course lunch together a few times a week, plus pints and canoe trips and working in Robbie's garden…

The downside is that it’s really not helping him to move on. 

Lost in his musing, he watches as James grows steadily closer and closer until he slides to a standstill, scull rocking gently on the water. ‘Morning,’ he offers, and Robbie shakes himself out of his thoughts and smiles back. 

‘Good row?’ he asks, offering a hand to help James out of the boat and repressing his awareness of the pleasing strength in James’s hand. He helps hoist the scull out of the water as James gives him a brief description of his row, and talks about the kingfisher he saw.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you so early,’ he comments enquiringly, and Robbie shrugs. 

‘Decided I fancied a Saturday fry up made by someone else.’

‘So you came to get me to make it?’ James asks, raising an eyebrow, and Robbie rolls his eyes and tries not to linger on the way James’s muscles flex as he lifts the rowing scull over his shoulder to carry it back to the boathouse. 

‘Thought you might be out and about, and wondered if you’d fancy it too,’ Robbie asks when he returns. It’s silly, really, how invested he is in the answer. Feels like being a teenager again, awkward and filled with a mix of shyness and bravado. 

James doesn’t leave him waiting. ‘Mind if we go to my place first? I need to shower and change.’

‘Of course,’ Robbie agrees. ‘Wouldn’t want you seen on the town looking like that.’

James looks pointedly at his own near-pristine tracksuit, then at Robbie's elderly but comfortable jeans, and the jumper he’s only just now remembering has a hole in the sleeve. ‘Of course,’ he echoes cordially. ‘We really can’t have my outfit bring down the tone of whichever establishment has you in your sartorial finest.’

‘Keep that up and you’ll be paying for your own breakfast,’ Robbie warns him.

‘And what a change that would be,’ James returns, then jogs off towards his car before Robbie can reply.

James is already in the shower when Robbie lets himself into the flat. Though they have reverted to tradition since Robbie got his new place, spending more time there than at James’s, it always gives Robbie a small sense of satisfaction to walk into the place. With his help, James painted the place and the two of them spent a day off visiting estate sales to find better bookcases than the wobbly Ikea ones James had before. Robbie held off on his threat to decorate the place, but he did select a few bits and pieces to brighten the flat up – none of them neon or shaped like any kind of sports equipment, to James’s relief. It feels like a home should, and it’s a good feeling, knowing James has somewhere like that. 

Robbie helps himself to a cup of tea and sets James’s cafetière brewing. They’ve done this a few times in the last couple of months, and by now James knows to set up his coffee things before he goes into the shower and Robbie will have a cup ready for him when he gets out. It’s all very domestic, and if Robbie occasionally indulges in a small daydream that James will come out of the shower and thank him with a kiss, well, it’s not hurting anyone else. 

James appears a few minutes later, dressed in a hoodie and jeans and already reaching for the coffee Robbie's holding out to him. He leans against the counter, relaxed and comfortable, sipping at his drink and Robbie stands beside him, the both of them gazing out of the window, idly watching the passers-by on the street below. 

‘Fancy having breakfast here?’ James offers eventually. ‘Don’t really want to go out again.’

‘Fine by me,’ Robbie agrees. ‘You do the bacon, I’ll sort the eggs an’ toast?’

‘I want mushrooms too,’ James tells him, reaching for the fridge. ‘And I got some of those sausages you like from the organic butcher.’

‘You were expecting me?’ Robbie asks, a little surprised, but not that much. After all, he has James’s favourite French cheese in his own fridge.

‘Just hoping,’ James tells him, busily pulling out ingredients and not looking at Robbie. 

‘Thanks, lad,’ Robbie offers, taking the eggs as they’re held out to him. ‘That’s right good of you.’

When they sit down to breakfast at James’s slightly-too-small dining table, knees bumping gently under it, Robbie can’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday morning. 

*

The relaxed beginning to the weekend doesn’t last. Sunday afternoon finds them in Christ Church meadow, waist deep in nettles and watching as an equally put out Laura tries to remove the battered corpse of a teenage boy from the large patch. Several of the meadow’s long horn cows watch them curiously, kept at bay by a couple of nervous looking PCs. 

Monday brings a name for the boy and unpleasant news from Laura – significant signs of physical abuse stretching back years. Social services have been called to investigate Malcolm Howard’s father several times, but Malcolm refused to say anything and his mother swore her husband never laid a finger on him. His lines are an ugly tangle of fear, anger and love, and it breaks Robbie's heart to know this boy still loved someone who could treat him so badly.

Confronted with the body of her son, Malcolm’s mother continues to swear that her husband was with her all Saturday night, Malcolm didn’t come home and she has no idea what happened to him before his body turned up in the meadow. Neither Robbie nor James can fathom this blind devotion and both of them are on edge, trying desperately to get some justice for this boy let down by everybody else. 

It takes three days for them to nail Gordon Howard irrefutably, three days of increasing stress and sleep depravation. Robbie can see James winding tighter and tighter beside him, and strongly suspects this is digging up old memories. James doesn’t say anything, of course, and Robbie waits until the paperwork is done, Howard senior handed off to the Crown Prosecution Service, before having a quiet word with Innocent and asking if they can both have tomorrow morning off. Lizzie too – she’s done sterling work on this one. Innocent grants it, and Robbie coaxes James into joining himself and Lizzie in the pub. None of them are much interested in socialising, though, and Lizzie soon heads off home to Tony while Robbie coerces a reluctant James back to his flat. 

‘Really, Robbie, I won’t be good company,’ James warns. Robbie shrugs. 

‘Don’t care. We’re going back to mine, getting something to eat then spending the rest of the evening drowning our sorrows. I don’t care if you don’t speak a word the whole time, but I’d rather have you there than not.’ That’s a lie, of course. He fully intends to have James talking at least a little by the end of the evening. Not good to have it all bottled up inside. 

‘Fine,’ James sighs, sounding resigned and like he just doesn’t have the energy to argue. ‘But I want Chinese.’

‘Fine by me,’ Robbie shrugs, and turns to car towards their preferred restaurant. 

As Robbie suspected, James hardly says a word as they eat their dinner and work their way through another beer apiece. Robbie doesn’t mind. There’s some program about Renaissance Art on the telly that’s half holding their attentions and doing the job of not letting the silence weigh too much, and Robbie can wait as long as he needs to before beginning to gently prompt James. 

One beer turns into two, becomes three, becomes a glass of whisky for James and a mug of tea for Robbie. Renaissance Art has moved on to some police drama, and usually they’d enjoy taking the piss out of the BBC’s vision of crime fighting but today Robbie discretely changes the channel when James goes to the bathroom. He doesn’t seem to notice that the show’s some panel game when he returns, and with James nearing the bottom of his glass of whiskey, Robbie decides this is the time to try and bring his silent partner into conversation. 

‘I hate cases like that,’ he begins, just loud enough to be heard over the laughter from the telly. ‘Seeing his lines like that… it’s not right.’ He shakes his head, lost in a memory of his own. ‘One of the worse times of my life was when my line on Mark’s wrist started showing anger an’ resentment. Hated that I was doing that to him. Made me think. Was hard work to fix things, but absolutely worth it.’ He shakes himself out of the memory, waits in silence to see if James will offer anything before Robbie tries again.

It takes a few long minutes before Robbie has any sign of whether or not James has even heard him, but eventually James releases a long sigh, a sigh Robbie feels right through himself where they’re pressed so close together. 

‘My mother didn’t try,’ he says, very low. ‘Or I suppose she thought it would be God’s decision whether or not to fix it. Like it was God’s decision that she get pregnant with me, and God’s decision that she should end up stuck in a place she hated, and God’s decision that they had to leave. She couldn’t blame God, though. I’d like to think she tried not to blame me, but I don’t really believe that.’ He swallows, and Robbie bites his tongue not to offer comfort, to wait until James has finished. ‘I think she felt justified in it all when I chose the seminary.’ James continues. ‘I saw my line on her wrist about a month after I started. It was just pride and satisfaction, like she’d done something difficult and now was going to get her reward.’ He downs the last of his drink, and Robbie uncaps the bottle without having to be asked. ‘She died not long after that. She hated when I had short hair, so I cut it two days afterwards. Showed up to the funeral looking like a skinhead. Took me nearly a year to leave the seminary, though, and that was more because of Will. Rebellion and compliance together.’ James finishes, staring into his glass but not taking a sip. 

Robbie knows James well enough to say that the last thing he wants is to be pitied, and that the hug he wants to offer would be taken as such. ‘Families are difficult,’ he offers inadequately. He wants to tell James that his mother was probably proud of him too, that it wasn’t all to do with the seminary, but he’s not sure how it would be taken. Best not to weigh in right now. Maybe he can venture it at some future point.

James huffs. _‘Shall they be a family in name only; or shall they in all their actions be true to the name?’_ he asks. ‘I think Plato had the right of it.’ 

Robbie takes the undrunk whisky from his hands. ‘If we’ve moved on to quoting Plato, I think tea would be better,’ he says firmly, and James doesn’t protest. 

Robbie makes tea for them both and returns to the living room. James has unfurled somewhat from his previous tight hunch, and Robbie makes a production of settling back into the couch beside him, deliberately sitting tighter in to his side. There’s a moment when he thinks James is about to slide over, put space between them, but instead he reaches for the mug Robbie set on the coffee table, and when he slumps back again he’s pressed even more firmly against Robbie.

The panel game has finished, the telly now showing something about building houses, and they sit and watch it, sipping their tea as Robbie feels the tension slowly drift out of James’s lanky limbs until finally his head begins to nod. Robbie shifts, very slightly, using the mute excuse of stretching his shoulders to gently guide James’s head to rest against him. After a moment James sighs and settles his head more comfortably against Robbie. ‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, and Robbie knows what he means – thank you for listening. Thank you for waiting for me to be ready to talk. Thank you for being here. 

*

‘Bloody Indian summer,’ Robbie grumbles, wiping sweat off his forehead and trying not to stare covetously at James, competently wielding a garden fork. ‘Too bloody hot for this time of year.’

‘Would you prefer to be doing this in the rain?’ James asks, amused, freeing another clod of earth and turning it with a deft heave. ‘Because I wouldn’t. Nor would I prefer to listen to you grumbling next year about not having done this last year.’

‘Alright,’ Robbie sighs. ‘’S just not natural for it to be this warm in October.’

‘It wouldn’t be, if you’d take your jumper off,’ James tells him. ‘I promise not to swoon at the sight of you flashing your forearms.’

‘Cheeky sod,’ Robbie grunts, lifting another compost sack to empty over the turned earth. ‘Just don’t want to blind you with my pasty skin.’ 

James looks pointedly at his own bare arms, significantly paler than Robbie has ever been. ‘I’m probably immune,’ he offers dryly. ‘If I can see myself in the shower...’

Robbie sucks in a sharp breath, the image of James in the shower flashing through his mind and leaving him stunned. James keeps saying these things, and Robbie isn’t sure if he’s worked out Robbie’s feelings or is just joking about in the way they’ve always done. 

‘I don’t want you to pass out from overheating,’ James carries on, merrily bloody oblivious to the havoc he’s wreaking on Robbie. ‘I might have to give you mouth to mouth...’

‘Alright, alright, I’ll take it off,’ Robbie interjects hurriedly before he can say anything more. After all, if James can bare his lines to Robbie, including the line for bloody, bloody Fiona McKendrick, then surely Robbie can do the same. Even if James does know about Robbie's feelings, he wouldn’t be crass enough to joke about them. So it probably is just Robbie’s imagination after all, James flirting with him. 

Robbie stumps over to the patio to drop his jumper on the table, immediately feeling cooler in just his polo shirt. When he turns back James is leaning on his fork, ostensibly wiping sweat from his face, but Robbie has a feeling that James is watching him. He ignores it and heads back to begin digging the compost into what will, next year, be a vegetable patch.

They finish the patch in the early afternoon, and it’s warm enough to enjoy a beer each on the patio, looking out over their day’s work. ‘Here’s to the future fruits of our labour,’ James toasts, and Robbie will happily drink to that. 

There’s a football match on the telly, but Robbie would rather be out here, enjoying the last of the warm weather with James. ‘Dinner was good last night,’ he says. ‘Milla made some sort of tagine thing, and Laura was showing me what they’ve done with the spare room. It’s a shame you couldn’t make it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ James tells him sincerely. ‘I wanted to go with you, but...’ But Innocent corralled him into being her plus one at the last moment. Robbie can’t say he’s unhappy to hand off that duty.

‘Don’t worry,’ Robbie assures him. ‘There’ll always be the next time.’

‘Do you want to – talk or anything?’ James offers, awkward and apparently engrossed in getting earth out from under his nails. ‘It must be difficult for you.’ Robbie gazes at him, surprised and a little confused, and James nods at the deep ruby heartline on Robbie's arm. ‘What with that,’ he finishes.

So James definitely hasn’t guessed Robbie's feelings for him. In fact, he’s got entirely the wrong end of the stick. Suppose it was inevitable, really. It's just been wishful thinking, the flirting between them for the last few months. ‘Nah, I’m alright, lad,’ Robbie tells him, touched and saddened all at once. ‘I’m really over Laura.’

James gives him a look that says he doesn’t believe Robbie. ‘If you say so,’ is all he says. 

‘I am,’ Robbie insists. ‘This belongs to someone else,’ he tells James, touching the line, instinctively gentle.

‘Really,’ James drawls, and now he looks intrigued. ‘Care to tell me about them?’

For a moment Robbie imagines it. Imagines telling James and having James respond happily, confessing he feels the same way. Imagines telling James and watching as James’s expression turns to shock, or disgust, before glassing over, going blank while he makes some speech about being flattered, but… Imagines watching James make his excuses and walk out, avoid Robbie at work, decline invitations to the pub, put distance between them until Robbie is just some copper he used to work with. At the end of the day, Robbie has to consider which is the more likely scenario. At the end of the day, he can’t lose James.

‘Nah, you’re alright,’ Robbie tells him, heavy hearted. ‘No point, really. It’s about as likely to happen as yours is,’ he adds, giving James a look of commiseration. Instead of returning it though, James looks as though he’s been slapped. He swallows heavily, and Robbie wonders if he’s transgressed some unspoken rule, mentioning James’s unrequited love. 

‘Right then,’ James manages shakily after a minute. ‘Thanks for letting me know, I suppose.’ He’s still for a second before standing suddenly. ‘I’m just going to...’ he doesn’t bother to finish, heading inside, and Robbie’s heart sinks. Well, he’s buggered things up well and good, hasn’t he?

James doesn’t reappear, and after several minutes Robbie begins to worry. Has he made such a mess of things James has just walked out? 

He hurries inside, checks the kitchen and the bathroom. Both are empty, but James’s coat is still draped over a chair in the kitchen. He could, theoretically, have left without it, but his keys are likely in the pocket. This leave one probable place to find him. 

As hoped, James is sitting on the front step, cigarette in hand. By the looks of it it’s his second, and judging by the jerky drags James is taking from it he’ll be lighting another one after this. He doesn’t look up as Robbie opens the door, and after a second of hesitation Robbie steps outside and lowers himself down to take a seat on the steps beside James. James still won’t look at him. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Robbie tells him, after a minute of shared silence. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘It’s fine,’ James tells him, voice tightly controlled. ‘Not your fault. You can’t help it.’

‘Maybe not,’ Robbie agrees – as far as he knows, Fiona McKendrick is still happily married – ‘but I didn’t have to bring it up.’

‘Not, it’s fine,’ James tells him, still staring straight ahead, still smoking like it’s a competition. ‘I’d rather know now than keep hoping.’ He takes another drag. ‘Is this going to change things?’ he asks.

‘Why would it change things?’ Robbie asks back, confused. ‘It’s not as though I didn’t know before, like.’

James’s laugh is mirthless. ‘And I thought I’d hidden it so well.’ He takes another cigarette from the packet, turns it over and over without lighting it. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asks eventually, voice quiet.

‘It’s got nothing to do with me,’ Robbie returns, somewhat bitter. James isn’t his; technically his loveline is no particular business of Robbie's.

‘It has got _something_ to do with you,’ James points out, oddly dry. ‘What with you being the object of my undying devotion.’

‘Yeah. Right.’ Robbie can’t muster up the enthusiasm for their usual back and forth. ‘Undying devotion.’

‘Well, at least it sounds better than ‘hopelessly unrequited love,’ James offers, the bitterness in his voice matching that in Robbie's heart. ‘Adds up to the same thing, though. You were spot on, the first time we met. I was for you. Still am. I hope this doesn’t spoil things,’ he adds, but Robbie can hardly hear it over the buzzing in his ears. Everything seems oddly distant, and he wonders distractedly if he’s going into shock. It wouldn’t surprise him, after the bizarre turn today has suddenly taken.

He’s not sure how long he sits like this, mind whited out as he tries to process and make sense of James’s confession, but when he comes back to himself James is crouched in front on him, one hand on his knee and the other cupping his face. 

‘There you are,’ James breaths, worry clear on his face. ‘Are you alright? What happened?’

‘I love you,’ Robbie blurts, and James looks panicked. 

‘Oh God, are you having a stroke?’

‘No I am not having a stroke!’ Robbie tells him, indignation snapping him out of his daze. ‘Bloody cheek!’

‘Sorry,’ James tells him, a little tart as he pulls his hands away. ‘But you didn’t respond for several minutes then suddenly told me you love me after just having said it would never happen. Excuse me for being worried.’

‘When did I say that?’ Robbie asks. ‘Because it’s not true.’

‘In the garden, just now,’ James insists, and Robbie recognises this now, has seen it in himself. James can’t believe Robbie; what he’s saying is too important to hope for. ‘You said it wasn’t going to happen.’

Robbie ignores his words. ‘James,’ he says, and makes sure James is fully with him before he continues. ‘This line is yours.’ Carefully he catches hold of James’s hand, the one that was previously cupping Robbie's face, and guides it to his arm, tracing it along the line where it fairly pulses with tell-tale deep pink.

James stares at Robbie's arm for a long moment. ‘Are you sure?’ he asks quietly, sounding like he can barely bring himself to voice the question.

‘Very sure,’ Robbie assures him. ‘It’s been like that for months. I’ve been – sounding you out, I suppose, since then. Hoping you might be interested even with that.’ He gestures to the matching line on James’s arm. ‘But I got the wrong end of the stick, didn’t I?’ he asks, as James touches Robbie's loveline with something approaching reverence. ‘That’s mine, isn’t it? I thought it was bloody Fiona McKendrick’s.’

Head bowed over Robbie's arm, James’s shoulders begin to shake. Without seeing his face Robbie can’t tell if it’s laughter or tears that are the cause. Laughter, it turns out a minute later, when James tips forward and rests his head against Robbie's shoulder, and Robbie can just about hear the amusement. ‘So glad you find it funny,’ he tells James grumpily. 

‘It’s not that,’ James replies, pulling back so Robbie can see his face once more. ‘It’s just that I’ve been courting you ever since you broke up with Laura.’

‘Oh aye?’ Robbie asks, beginning to see the humour of it. ‘So we’ve been courting each other, in love with each other, and neither of us had a clue?’

‘We don’t deserve the title of Detective,’ James agrees, mournful and laughing at the same time. 

‘Come on, you,’ Robbie tells him, creaking his way to his feet and tugging James after him. ‘Let’s go in before we give the neighbours any more of a show.’ James follows him inside without letting go of his hand. Robbie appreciates that. He’s not entirely convinced this is real yet. 

Somewhat on automatic, Robbie leads them to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Reluctantly, he disentangles his hand from James’s to fetch out the tea things. His palm feels oddly cold without James’s pressed against it. They don’t speak as they dance around the kitchen, Robbie pulling out mugs as James fetches the milk, but neither of them can stop sneaking looks as the other’s arm.

Tea made, they move to the couch, the site of so much of their relationship. Robbie breaks the silence. ‘How long’s it been like that?’

‘Years,’ James tells him softly. ‘Aeons. There was pink in it before Fiona and I started our affair,’ he continues. ‘Her line never fully developed, and it faded too soon for you to mistake. That’s part of why it never went anywhere – she didn’t know any details, but she knew there was someone else.’ He stops, then asks, half-shy; ‘How long did you say?’

‘Months,’ Robbie tells him again. ‘Since not long after Laura an’ me broke up. Took a bit of getting used to, but lines don’t lie.’

‘No, they don’t,’ James agrees, sinking lower into the couch. ‘A blessing and a curse.’

‘I’d call it a blessing, in this case,’ Robbie tells him. ‘Can’t imagine how long it might have taken me to realise without it.’

‘Mmm,’ James agrees, leaning heavier against Robbie's side. ‘You would have figured it out eventually. Inevitable.’

‘Reckon so,’ Robbie tells him, gazing fondly at James, his best friend, his love. ‘Can’t imagine it ending any other way.’

‘Well… I can think of another thing we could try,’ James suggests, and Robbie raises an eyebrow. ‘I can’t help noticing there’s a fair amount of coral in our lines,’ James continues. 

‘There is at that,’ Robbie agrees, knowing exactly where this is going and already feeling a bit breathless. ‘Well spotted.’

‘Mmm,’ James breaths, slowly getting closer. ‘D’you think we might do something about that?’

Robbie's reply is to close the last little space between them and give James what he’s been waiting for for so long. 

It’s better than he imagined.

Their tea grows cold. 

*

‘What’s going to happen next?’ James asks, accidentally pulling the duvet off Robbie as he rolls over onto his stomach. Robbie makes a grab for it, and the thread of the conversation is well and truly lost in the ensuing tussle.

‘I suppose we’ve really been dating for a while now,’ James muses idly several minutes later, pressed tight against Robbie as he drops kisses along his line on Robbie's arm. Robbie tries not to squirm at the ticklish sensation as James adds his tongue to the mix. ‘Unless you want to continue like this for a bit longer,’ he offers, blowing gently onto the dampened skin.

‘Like this is good,’ Robbie murmurs, dazed and distracted, reaching for James’s arm to return the favour. ‘But with less uncertainty.’

‘I’m very certain of you,’ James assures him. ‘I’ve been certain of you for years.’

‘Me too,’ Robbie agrees. ‘It just took a while for the colours to come in an’ me to wake up. But you were the one who brought me back, after Val. You made me want to get up in the morning. It was always going to be you.’

James looks up from his ministrations to Robbie's arm. ‘It was always going to be you too,’ he returns softly. ‘You were the one who kept me going. I love you, Robbie Lewis.’

‘Love you too, soft lad,’ Robbie tells him, swallowing a little. ‘I’d keep you here, if I could.’

‘Why can’t you?’ James asks. ‘Maybe not straight away, but I’d say we’ve spent enough time together to say we could stand living together.’ He looks a little apprehensive, but there’s confidence, love and sheer, blazing joy beneath it. 

‘I’d love that, pet,’ Robbie tells him. ‘But what about your flat?’ he asks, suddenly worried, thinking of the time and care James put in to getting his home sorted. ‘You just got that set up nicely.’ James shrugs slightly. 

‘I only took the place because you wanted me to and you promised to decorate. I’m sure we can make space for the most important things here. And like I told you before, it’s people who make a home. You’ve been my home for years.’

‘Same here, love,’ Robbie tells him, pulling him closer. ‘Same here.’ 

*

Empty stomachs force them to get up eventually, and Robbie learns the joy of trying to cook with James refusing to get more than an arm’s length away from him. Not that Robbie minds, other than the fact that James’s arms are longer than his own, so occasionally James is too far away. 

‘Laura will think this is hilarious,’ he tells James as they sit down. ‘We used to joke that Milla was her James.’

‘I take exception to that,’ James sniffs. ‘I am entirely singular.’ There’s a grin lurking somewhere on his face. 

‘Aye, you are that,’ Robbie tells him dryly. ‘You’ve the only person who’s ever asked if I’m having a stroke when I told them I loved them.’

‘At least you’ll remember it?’ James offers, refusing to be chastened.

‘As if I’d ever forget you, soft lad,’ Robbie tells him. ‘You’re far too much trouble for that.’

‘And you’ve got a reminder too,’ James says, satisfied and possessive, running a brief finger over his line on Robbie's arm.

‘So have you,’ Robbie replies, equally satisfied, glancing at James’s wrist. It doesn’t look half so lonely now.

**Author's Note:**

> This grew out of a want to explore the soulmate trope, which I love but couldn’t manage to write, and a want to explore the causes of James’s Trauma Hair, especially after season 9, where James’s father comments that his mother hated his hair that short. Not sure if I addressed either of these things, but hey.


End file.
